


Trapped in the Eye of the Tempest

by Loremaiden



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV)
Genre: Community: watsons_woes, Crack Treated Seriously, Prompt Fic, Revenge, Rogues Gallery, Watson is in grave danger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loremaiden/pseuds/Loremaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson stumbles upon impossible demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trapped in the Eye of the Tempest

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel/companion-piece to my JWP #18 entry [The Macabre Committee](http://archiveofourown.org/works/949604), this time from Watson's POV.
> 
> Written in response to JWP #22 (The Bard) on Watson's Woes.
> 
> The Bard: We can't have a challenge without a little Shakespeare. Use a quote, a reference, or the man himself - it's all up to you.

Watson glared daggers at the backs of his kidnappers. He had planned to put up more of a fight this evening when the first assailant tried to drag him into the growler. To put a stop to those plans, the second one snuck up behind the doctor and jammed a pistol into his ribs while a muscled arm crushed his windpipe, which effectively cut off any possible shouts for help.

Now he was in a dank cellar heaven knows where. They took off his blindfold when they unceremoniously dumped him into the corner of the room, but kept him bound and gagged. The bludgers also kept him company, but fortunately they were entertaining themselves with playing cards and a bottle of wine instead of inflicting further violence on his person. He had his ears open, ready to eavesdrop on any clue as to his location or why he was being held prisoner. But these ruffians were intelligent enough not to give anything away; their conversation was focused solely on their game.

The ropes encircling his wrists were tight; any attempt to thrash out of them would surely catch their attention. He rested his back against the hard wall and closed his eyes as he preserved his energy.

That was when his fingertips brushed against a stray shard of glass unseen on the stone floor.

Cutting himself free of his bonds was only the work of a minute, but he kept his hands behind his back as he collected his strength. He would have to strike quickly; thank goodness they did not bind his ankles as well.

The thug closest to him was out cold before he even realized the ex-soldier's fist had hit him. The other managed a brief shout before he joined his partner on the ground. Watson ripped out the thick cloth gag from his mouth and worked his jaw to relieve its stiffness. He shifted his fighting stance as he prepared for the likely possibility that there were more guards upstairs who had heard the scuffle. But none came.

He slowly made his way to the top of the stairs while wincing at every creak of the wooden steps. He opened the door a crack and peered through. There was not a soul in sight as he closed the door behind him.

The long hallway he found himself in was positively palatial. Elegant paintings covered the walls and golden candlelight illuminated the corridor. Thankfully, the lush red carpeting deadened the sound of his footsteps.

His stealthy wandering was rewarded when he finally spied the front door. He preferred to find a less obvious way out, for he was sure there would be guards posted on the other side, but he knew time was of the essence. He must escape before the bludgers regained consciousness and sounded the alarm.

The only obstacle he had to sneak past in order to reach freedom was a room filled with the vibrant sounds of a party in full swing—the clink of glasses, laughter, and a constant stream of strangely familiar voices. While the door to the room was open, it was only by a sliver. If he was careful enough, he could slip past unnoticed.

Watson peered through the crack of the door to make certain no one was near it before he made the attempt.

An impossible sight made his eyes grow wide in sheer unbelieving horror.

The men he saw sitting around the table in the elegant dining hall were not supposed to be here. Some were supposed to be in jail. Some were supposed to be moldering in the ground.

And the man at the head of the table was supposed to be dashed upon the rocks of a Swiss waterfall.

But there they all were. _Hell is empty and all the devils are here._

Watson's heart threatened to pound straight out of his chest as he could now hear snatches of what the impossible voices were discussing.

They spoke of drowning, drugging, burying alive, flaying, burning, beating, and a host of other tortures with jovial cruelty. And Watson guessed which unfortunate victim these demons planned to put upon the rack.

_Holmes. God in Heaven, Holmes!_

He must escape, he must warn him. He must not let these vengeful monsters take his friend. He was quaking like a leaf as he prepared to make a break for it.

He almost cried aloud when another door slammed against a wall.

"Sir! The doc's escaped!"

A blast of howling rage assaulted Watson's ears. More guards came crashing through the dining hall and then the front door in answer to a familiar shikari's roar to find him and find him _now_. Watson was trapped.

He only had one option left--strategic retreat to another floor. He forced down his fear with a soldier's strength as he ran, while the hellhounds in human skin were baying for their pound of flesh.


End file.
